


He takes and he takes and he takes

by Linara



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Eventual Sterek, M/M, yeah that cancer!au you never wanted but here it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linara/pseuds/Linara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what the name of a real fun disease is? Cancer. It’s a barrel of laughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bad Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by rodenn's gifset, and the Sufjan Stevens song Casimir Pulaski. 
> 
> Yeah, I don't think this is going to have a happy ending, even (especially) because probable eventual Stiles/Derek.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

It starts when Stiles pulls on a pair of jeans and they barely stay on. He gives the jeans a look, and then puts a belt on, and goes to school. Maybe they expanded in the washer? That can happen, right?

Scott gives him a confused face in English, and says “You smell weird,” before turning to talk to Allison. Stiles rolls his eyes and flips to the opening act of Hamlet.

It continues when Stiles gets a fever and a nasty cough that won’t go away, and Scott comes by with homework and freaks out, and Derek shows up in his room in the middle of the night and pets his head gently, and then disappears.

It reveals itself when, after three days of sickness, his dad takes Stiles to the hospital, and Doctor. Morgan runs tests, and then further tests, and then gives something to Stiles that knocks him out. When he wakes up, mouth tasting like a cesspool and stomach aching, his dad is sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, looking utterly wrecked.

“Dad,” he says, or tries to say, but then he starts coughing and his dad wakes up and in between trying to breathe and trying to swallow ice chips he notices an IV line in his arm.

It’s another ten or twenty minutes before anyone will tell him anything.

“Cancer. That’s…wow. It’s lung cancer, isn’t it? That’s, uh, that’s awesome.”

Stiles isn’t really surprised, because this is his life, and his Mom died at 31 of lung cancer, so it’s statistically probable that he or his hypothetical kids would get it. Which, yeah, Stiles probably should’ve expected this.

If there’s one thing he should get credit for, though, it’s how he reacted. No panic attacks, no shouting, he didn’t even swear.

That’s pretty impressive by his standards.

When he gets back home, with a hell of a lot of medicine and the number for a specialist in his dad’s pocket, he writes a possible epitaph down in a notebook.

”Stiles Stilinski (they are not gonna put his birth name on there, no way)  
He handled bad news pretty awesomely, considering how bad it usually was”


	2. Seen this room and walked this floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the comments and kudos, guys. Feedback is one of the best things a writer can get.  
> Cross posted to tumblr, and unbeta'd as usual.

If there's one thing that Stiles is good at, it's research. He is master of the google search bar, expert at finding reliable sources. Unsurprisingly, it's easier to find info on lung cancer than werewolves.

The numerous tests that they did in the hospital narrowed down his particular brand of death to Small Cell Lung Cancer (it sounds more ominous with the capital letters, is Stiles' guess). It doesn't take too many clicks of the mouse to find out the essential stuff: it's fast acting, almost always fatal, and generally not an awesome thing to have.

Stiles doesn't actually have to do much research on it. He's looked at these pages before, although they had different lists of what treatment is available, and different statistics. In fact, Stiles even knows how they'll treat him, with chemo and radiation therapy, and whatever the new test drug is. 

That's how they treated his mom.

Yeah, one of the things Stiles remembers vividly from his previous research? Lung cancer is hereditary. 

The second possible epitaph in his notebook reads thusly:

"Stiles Stilinski  
He pretty much just had the worst possible luck"


	3. Pink Moon's gonna get you all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and subscriptions, but most especially the comments! Here's a slightly longer chapter than usual, which I wrote while listening to Nick Drake's beautiful last album, Pink Moon.
> 
> Unbeta'd as usual.
> 
> Warnings for extreme rambliness, as well as some angst. Also, Stiles starts to act more like a teenager.

So Scott, as it turns out, has some phobia of cancerous people or something. Probably thinks it's contagious, the idiot. Stiles knows this because he spends the first two days after tentative diagnosis sitting in his room, alternating between feeling frustrated, melancholy, and really wanting to get a few more levels on his Orc warrior in WoW. And Scott doesn't visit, or call, or text.

Derek, of all people, does decide to visit, because he's not a _terrible friend_ like some people. He's still Derek, though, which means that he crawls through Stiles' window at two in the morning, startling Stiles from his chair.

He recovers pretty awesomely, pushing himself off the floor and saying "Well if it isn't Stalky McSourwolf-"

That's broken off by a coughing fit that makes Derek narrow his eyes in annoyance, because of course Derek is the type of person annoyed by sick people, as opposed to the far more preferable being turned on by them. For example. Stiles wouldn't be opposed to a few makeout sessions. That'd be an awesome cancer perk.

Anyway, Derek just let's him sit there and cough for a few minutes, because he's a complete jerk. It's only after Stiles nearly chokes on his tongue while trying to force oxygen into his body that Derek moves from his standing position.

To pick Stiles up from the floor and deposit him on the bed.

Stiles is pretty sure that his entire head is a combination of blue from oxygen deprivation and red from embarrassment. Derek just had to carry him across his room, it's literally the most pathetic thing that's happened to Stiles this week. Actually, considering the mess that is Stiles' life right now, more like the most pathetic thing that's happened today, but still.

"So, uh...why are you here?" Stiles wheezes after he's been propped against the wall behind his bed. "Not that it's, y'know, not good to see you, but you being here usually means you want me to research things, or convince Scott to not do stupid things or just other things that I shouldn't really be doing at two in the morning, actually I think my dad has his suspicions about me sneaking out, and after this last appointment he doesn't really want me to be doing strenuous activity, which means no lacrosse, and I don't really mind that because I'm not that good, but still it kinda sucks becau-"

"Stiles," Derek says, thankfully interrupting the words streaming out of Stiles, and really how much can he embarrass himself in one night? "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

The guy actually manages to sound a little hurt about that, like it's Stiles' fault that he hasn't shouted out the fact that he has freaking _cancer_ from the rooftops.

"I kinda thought Scott would tell you. Not that he knows explicitly, but the fact that he hasn't been around at all for the last couple days can't be a coincidence. Also, I didn't think you would care. Not that you're some jerk who doesn't care about stuff like that, but we're not exactly buddy-buddy, and okay, you're giving me a Glare of Doom, what'd I say?"

Derek's eyes are glowing red, and Stiles is pretty sure that if he risked a look at the guy's hands, they'd be claws.

"I care about my- the people who are important to me." Derek says stiffly, sounding uncomfortable.

"Oh, you came here to tell me off because my dying will inconvenience you because I'm the only person with brains in this operation? Geez, thanks Derek."

"That's not what I meant," Derek says, scowling at him. "I meant-"

"Dude, I don't really care what you meant. It's late, I'm tired, and your concerns or apologies or whatever just don't matter. Not right now."

Stiles knows he's being an asshole. Knows, and yet he lets his tone grow sharp and annoyed, doesn't do a thing as Derek's eyes fade from red and his face turns back to its usual stoic scowl.

"Fine," Derek says curtly. "Get some sleep, Stiles."

And then he slips out of the room and Stiles is left with some guilt and the knowledge that he screwed up whatever was happening.

Before he falls asleep, he jots down another epitaph in his notebook.

"Stiles Stilinski  
Managed to ruin things without even trying"


	4. Life is too short to leave the windows open all winter long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite happy with this, but it needed to be finished, so have at it. Title from The Mountain Goats' excellent song 'Jam-Eater Blues', which is a song everyone should hear.
> 
> Unbeta'd as always.
> 
> Thanks for all of the comments, kudos and subscriptions, they really make my day.
> 
> Also you can find this at dwgeek.tumblr.com, if you like.

Scott shows up the next day. He looks contrite and anxious, and there’s not a hint of the trademark confusion that usually covers his face.

“So,” Stiles says when he opens the door and sees Scott standing there, “what can I do for you, stranger?”

It’s a remark that Scott doesn’t really deserve, but the lack of communication between them for three days is actually a record. One that Stiles isn’t happy about.

“I just…” Scott begins, shuffling his feet on the welcome mat nervously and looking two seconds away from wringing his hands, “I could smell you were sick. That something was wrong, and- and Stiles, you’re my best friend and I know how sick you are, and I couldn’t deal with it. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles does a little feet shuffling of his own, feeling like an ass, because Scott’s face is earnest and sad puppyish, and yeah, maybe Scott didn’t text, but Stiles didn’t either.

“S’okay, bro,” he says, shrugging, and he jerks his head towards the open door. “Let’s go inside.”

——-

“So it’s incurable?”

Scott’s eyes are wide, but not with surprise. Sadness, maybe, but Stiles knows that Scott knows how sick he is. And Scott knows that Stiles knows, so this whole conversation is just a way to ignore the fact that Scott can use his wolfy powers to find out everything.

“It’s not incurable, but I can’t, uh. My chances aren’t that great, y’know? I’m younger, which helps a little, but it’s a really aggressive form of cancer, and people just don’t survive it.”

Like my mom didn’t survive it, he almost says, but doesn’t, because his mom doesn’t need to be involved in this.

Scott is silent for a moment, eyebrows crinkled together in his ‘thinking very hard’ face.

“Maybe-” Scott begins, and then stops, which is something Stiles didn’t know Scott could do, but apparently he can.

“Maybe what?” Stiles asks, and Scott shakes his head and sprawls back on the couch.

“Never mind. C’mon, dude, let’s play Halo.”


	5. Never saw the sun shining so bright

Stiles slips into a routine without knowing it. Meds and chemo and endless appointments, tied together with his father's utterly exhausted face and the almost daily visits from Scott. Attending school is cut out of the equation when it's discovered that his cancer has metastasized to his liver. Ordinarily that could've been curable. In these circumstances...Stiles is pretty much fucked.

On the bright side, he finishes the campaign for Halo 3 (several times), watches all three Lord of the Rings movies, then re-reads the books, and listens to every Ella Fitzgerald song on the web. 

That last thing is more of a final tribute to his mom, before it's too late for tributes. Stiles still dreams about her singing 'Blue Skies' and dancing with him across the kitchen floor. Once, he dreams that Derek and him are dancing, Blue Skies coming from a radio, sun streaming in the window and covering Derek's face in dappled light. 

Derek, by the way, doesn't show his grumpy face anywhere that Stiles can see it. Scott doesn't bring him up, because he's awesome, and Stiles tries resolutely to not feel guilty about being a jerk to him. He fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been quite a long time since I updated this. Not really sure what to say, except that school got in the way, and life got in the way of school, and there was just an event pile-up that delayed this story from getting closer to completion. 
> 
> Upside is that I'm putting two short chapters up, and hopefully more will be added soon. Thanks to all of the people who have commented, subscribed and left kudos. It makes my day a nicer one to see that people like this.


	6. Never saw things going so right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically speaking, this fits inside of Chapter 5, and sticks out a bit at the end.

There's something cathartic about slumping over a counter and coughing your lungs out, Stiles thinks. It's an experience that he's been getting intimately acquainted with, along with the experience of pushing himself away from the counter and stumbling around the house trying to do things. He's alone often - too often, in everyone's opinion except Stiles's (and really, he agrees, but he can still afford to cling to his pride - for now. The day Stiles needs a nanny to make sure he doesn't kill himself trying to make a sandwich is the day he starts researching the legality of assisted suicide.)

His father has reluctantly gone back to work, because as much as he thinks that Stiles needs help, he also knows that the town needs their Sheriff. And their Sheriff needs money to pay for hospital bills. 

Scott comes over every other day, balancing Stiles, Allison, his job, and whatever werewolfy things Derek has him doing rather admirably. And there's school, of course, which Stiles has thought about abandoning, but for some reason every time Allison brings his homework back, Stiles does it. He does Scott's as well, because he can, and because the longer Stiles can convince himself that he has use, that he isn't just a cancer-riddled body and a mind that is angry and despairing by turns, the more time he has. He knows that it helps to fight. To have a purpose. 

And yeah, it depresses him to know that his reason for sticking around is so he can do Scott's homework, but anything is better than nothing.

In his notebook he covers an entire page in shaky handwriting:  
"Stiles Stilinski  
Fucking useless"

Maybe he does have nothing.


End file.
